This was published 2 years ago
‘Not a word of conversation – we kissed’: Novelist Alex Miller’s own love story
Novelist Alex Miller, 85, has won two Miles Franklin Literary Awards. His wife, Stephanie, 69, was a university academic. From 2018 to 2020, Alex suffered from a mysterious degenerative illness.
“She was 21, I was 38,” says Alex Miller of when he first met Stephanie. “I thought she’d think I was a dirty old man.”Credit: Josh Robenstone
Alex: We met in 1975. I’d just come back from Paris and I applied to do this paid Dip-Ed thing, and so did Steph. I saw her on the first day and I just thought, “Oh f…, that’s her. That’s the one.” It was the look she gave me: utter contempt and derision. It absolutely won me! I thought, “You’ve got strength.”
She was 21, I was 38. I thought she’d think I was a dirty old man, so I didn’t do anything. One night, some students went to the pub, and both of us thought, “If the other one goes, I’ll go.” So we went, and then we both thought, “If the other one stays, I’ll stay.” So we sat there until we were the only ones left at the table. Then I said, “You could be cold sitting over there. Why don’t you come a bit closer?” That was my line. And she got up and came round to me – not a word of conversation – and we kissed. And it went on, and on, and on.
Eventually I heard slow-clapping. Everyone in the bar was applauding. Then a barmaid came with a jug of iced water and tipped it over us. I carried her home on my shoulders. And we still didn’t have a conversation.
I think we made sense of our lives through each other. I’d thought I’d sell my house in Melbourne and go back to Paris. Instead, I met Steph and got serious about writing. The journey to the books began with her. One night, about 18 months after we met, I realised she was having a bit of a cry. She said, “I want to have a baby.” It was as if a tap turned on inside me, and this flow of something beautiful ran through my veins. I said, “Well, let’s have one!” Ross came nine months later; Kate 11 years after that.
Stephanie, photographed by Alex in 1975, soon after the couple met.Credit: Courtesy of Alex Miller
Steph will be 70 next birthday. She always seems ridiculously young to me – as if she’s still 21. She’s the most honest and one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. But she doesn’t show it, unless you step on her. There was once a dean where she was working who used to bully women; Steph made him cry. But generally her whole approach is a soft one: she’s hugely empathetic, helpful, hard-working.
She’s always read my work but, since she retired 15 years ago, she’s had a lot to do with the development of my books. [My latest, A Brief Affair, is out November 1.] As a writer, I like to imagine her coming down the stairs clutching the manuscript, tears rolling down her face, trying to say, “It’s … it’s wonderful.” What actually happens is that I’ll suddenly notice she’s not reading the manuscript any more. Then I’ll see it’s back on my desk.
Then, two or three days later, we’ll be having a coffee and she’ll say in this reflective voice, “The trouble with the book is …” But it’s always a considered response – and it always makes total sense.
“I met Steph and got serious about writing. The journey to the books began with her.”
A few years ago, I began to shuffle as I walked. I thought, “Pull yourself together, Miller!” In the end, I couldn’t walk around the park. Nobody had any idea what was wrong. Another symptom was a loss of purpose: I’d sit in the corner, thinking, “Okay, this is the end: let it happen.” I had no fight. But Steph persisted. And eventually we discovered it was normal pressure hydrocephalus. I had an operation to install a shunt and it’s a complete cure. I feel as fit as ever, though I don’t generally run. My grandchildren don’t believe it; they say, “Just run!”
Alex and Stephanie on holiday in Rhodes, 2005.Credit: Courtesy of Alex Miller
Stephanie: The first time I saw Alex, I thought he was gorgeous! He was tanned, wearing this beautiful, blue cotton shirt and he had these huge, deep-brown eyes, and his chest was strong – he was muscly! I remember thinking, “Oh my god!” From that very first night at the pub, it just felt perfectly right.
I remember he said, “I’m never going to have a real job; I’m a writer.” For me, that was wonderful: I thought, “Here’s something I can believe in.” I had total faith in him from day one. I’ve always read his work but, in the early days, I really felt inadequate to comment on it. But eventually I began to say, you know, “It’s not quite what you’ve been telling me.” Or, “This bit’s working, but this bit isn’t.” He’s always grateful for feedback. And he’s always been very supportive of me, too. I did a master’s and a PhD when I was working and he used to cook for the kids and really be there for me.
“He said, ‘I’m never going to have a real job; I’m a writer.’ For me, that was wonderful: I thought, ‘Here’s something I can believe in.’”
He’s very charming and funny – and attractive. About two years after we met, we were dancing in a pub and this woman kept trying to dance with him. I just turned her around and steered her away. I’ve always been very vigilant! But he’s incredibly loyal.
I met his first wife, Anne, pretty early on. He’s so responsible, he said, “Look, I’ll never be able to live far away from her; she needs to know I’m around.” So I met her, and there was a bit of tension I suppose, but she came to all of our children’s birthday parties, and they called her Aunty Anne, and she and Alex remained close until her death. She’d come round and have a cup of tea.
When Ross was born, Alex said he felt his insides were just melting with love. He was quite a heavy smoker, but he gave up smoking and drinking so he could be healthy for this little baby. He didn’t really want a second child – he was in his 50s – but I said, “We’re having this baby. I’ll change every nappy.” And I did! Kate was born when [his 1992 novel] The Ancestor Game was coming out – he was dragging his mattress all over the house trying to get a decent night’s sleep. She just made herself a part of his life; she has his determination and self-belief.
His illness was such a strange thing. There was a period where I began to imagine life without him, which was awful. But even when things were not going well, he made the best of it. One day, he was outside with our two granddaughters and he fell over. Instead of feeling sorry for himself, he said to the girls, “Hey, it looks great from down here! Come and have a look!” And they all lay there, looking through the trees at the clouds.
Since his surgery, he’s just as he’s always been. We’ve had a life that’s been blessed with joy and goodness – and luck. We’ve been very lucky.
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